


it's just the price i pay (destiny is calling me)

by sunflashes



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: M/M, please return me to my trash can, screeches ROOOOOXANNE into the night, the sad sex worker au no one wanted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:42:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5043433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflashes/pseuds/sunflashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The elevator doors close on the man and Katya, who looks like he wants to say something but either can't or won't, and Trixie doesn't know why he can't bring himself to watch the floor counter above the elevator as light moves from number to higher number.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. tear yourself apart to entertain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [honorthevanishing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honorthevanishing/gifts).



> title obviously from mr. brightside by the killers which, fun fact, was written just so it could rip my poor heart to pieces in conjunction with this au.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knows, but he doesn't _know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from gasoline by halsey, hi victoria :D

Of course they meet in New York City, the most breakneck, blistering, liminal city in the United States. 

Katya works holiday weekends there when he’s told, trying to garner extra jobs without previous appointments and this is Trixie’s third conference there this year. As a sales rep for Mattel and perhaps the brains behind “Ask Trixie Mattel,” their new agony aunt campaign, he finds himself attending toy conventions across the US more and more frequently. This month’s is in New York City, and the larger city cons are less and less about product and more about “impression management,” whatever that means. Trixie is pretty sure it means that reps attend bullshit seminars on “brand management” and get toasted in hotel bars, which is what he is currently trying to do. 

Katya just desperately wants to get his trick drunk enough to fall asleep in the hotel room after, so he puts on his best “entranced woman” air and curses the decision to wear pumps. 

The trick bellies up to the bar with his not inconsiderable belly and Katya smoothly ascends a stool next to him. 

“What’ll it be,” the bartender asks them in clipped tones, clearly sensing a one-night-only vibe between the two of them. 

“He will have something with a kick and I will have a lemonade. Gotta keep my girlish figure,” Katya giggles at his companion, who is utterly charmed by his wiles and slips a bill to the bartender without blinking. 

Trixie feels legitimately bad about it, but his eyes keep dragging themselves back to this figure whose gender he tries not to assume. They are so fucking gorgeous, cutting a sleek, curved figure of average human height, gender aside. Their hair is blonde and curly, cascading about their shoulders in devastatingly perfect waves. Their makeup is impeccable—a simple eye and a mid-range lip—and their little black dress is bone-tight, accented by the posh-looking pumps that adorn their feet. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” the man with the gorgeous figure says, “I have to hit the head. I’ll be right back.” 

“Don’t be gone for too long or I’ll start to miss you,” the blonde vision fake-pouts. The man saunters off toward the bathroom, waving a hand behind him, and the god(dess? ex?) turns to Trixie. 

“I’m a dude in a dress, you can calm down with your sudden sexuality crisis over there.” 

“I…I’m pan, not that it’s any of your business,” Trixie’s words are harsh but his expression is soft, lips forming a teasing, kind of sweet smile. 

“I’m Katya, not that that’s any of your business. But people who aren’t trying to get lucky call me Brian.”  
“You’re kidding me. My name’s Brian too.” Trixie laughs incredulously. 

“No shit,” Katya/Brian says, mouth hanging open in disbelief. “Well, call me Katya then, I guess!”

“Will do. What pronouns would you like me to use?” 

Katya lets out this ungodly wheezing noise that turns itself into a bellowing laugh. 

“Is this cute thing shitting me, Marco, with the pronoun talk?” Katya turns to the bartender, who, now that the man who had been with Katya is gone, is suddenly much friendlier to them. 

“The cute guy is not shitting you, Kat. He looks like someone kicked his fuckin’ puppy just at the thought,” the bartender chuckles and garnishes Katya’s lemonade with a few lavender blossoms. 

“What? I thought… polite?” Trixie holds up his hands and Katya puts their hand on Trixie’s arm even though there’s a whole seat between them. 

“I’m sorry, cute guy. I’ve just never had anyone ask me that before. You are awful fuckin’ nice, you know that?” Katya smiles with all their teeth. “Male pronouns are fine, by the by.” 

“It’s common courtesy,” Trixie is utterly charmed by Katya’s toothy smile. “I’m just sorry you’ve never had anyone ask you before.” 

“Let me buy this man’s drink.” Katya turns to the bartender, Marco, and slides him a bill. Trixie laughs and shrugs by way of acceptance. 

“So what do I call you, cute nice pronoun guy?” Katya rests his head against his hand and regards Trixie, slightly wide-eyed and overeager. Trixie can tell this isn’t fake; this is a real personality trait and fuck if it isn’t the most endearing fucking thing. 

“Brian, I guess,” Trixie is too shy to offer up Trixie Mattel as a solution. He isn’t even sure how to categorize Trixie Mattel anyway. 

“Brian it is,” Katya says, and the man he had been with comes waddling back from the bathroom. Trixie’s face must show it, because Katya shrugs with a sad little twist of his lush red lips, turns around on his barstool with practiced ease, and greets the man with a kiss on the cheek. Trixie watches Katya’s fingers clench around his glass of lemonade and slip on the condensation, fake nails clacking against each other. Trixie is not particularly adept at interpreting body language, but then again he has never been quite so aware of the proximity of another person’s body before. He recognizes the gritted-teeth resignation that works its way through Katya’s jaw muscles when the john whispers in his ear and Trixie knows what’s about to happen. He knows, but he doesn’t _know_ and he wants to make this stop but it’s not even happening to him. 

Katya takes the man’s hand and alights from his barstool gracefully. They approach the elevators and as Katya puts an arm around the man’s back to prove to any hotel staff watching that they are, in fact, together, he looks back over his shoulder at Trixie. He appears to be completely at ease as he waves goodbye behind the john’s back, and to Trixie that might even be worse than the signs of discomfort showing through. 

Trixie stands up from the bar abruptly and fights the impulse to continue the momentum’s trajectory towards Katya by picking his drink up and draining it. He knows he’s being ridiculous. He knows he’s just met Katya. He knows Katya doesn’t need his help, or probably anyone’s, defending himself. He knows Katya chose this. 

He knows, but he doesn’t _know._

The elevator doors close on the man and Katya, who looks like he wants to say something but either can't or won't, and Trixie can't bring himself to watch the floor counter above the elevator as light moves from number to higher number.


	2. it's quiet company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from terrible love by the national

The trick doesn't fall asleep, but he's into shit that Katya enjoys. He wants Katya to slap him around and size-shame him and make him crawl on all fours. He gets off on it, so much so that Katya sits on the end of the bed with one high heel resting on the man's head, pushing his face into the hotel carpet while he masturbates. 

Katya studies his fake nails and utterly ignores the john's noises. That's apparently exactly the right fuel for the fire, as the john finishes and falls asleep almost instantly, toppling over on his side. The money is on the nightstand and Katya didn't even have to get undressed. Katya thumbs through the hundred dollar bills and categorizes it as he goes: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, rent. A carton of cigarettes, ten, eleven, new heels. He stuffs the money into his tiny clutch, almost full to bursting with cigarettes, a lighter, and some emergency condoms and makeup. He goes into the bathroom to check his makeup and wig. Satisfied with his reflection, he fluffs his wig up as best he can, muttering "shake-and-go nonsense" under his breath. He resolves to spend some of this cash on less thirsty wigs. 

First thing is first, however. He needs a cigarette, and badly. He pulls a square of toilet paper from the roll, applies a little more lipstick, and presses the square to his lips. The lip print is actually pretty damn good, and he places the paper on the john's face so he'll find it when he wakes up. A little humor and a mock-thank-you-note never hurts in an escort situation. Katya rummages through his bag for a cig and his lighter as he walks briskly toward the elevator. He gets in and takes it down to the lobby. He texts Marco the cigarette emoji and Marco responds with an enthusiastic combination of hearts and the 100 emoji. 

Katya strides through the lobby, ignoring the double takes and sidelong glances. He exits the hotel and walks around the side of the building to a service door where Marco is waiting for him, halfway through a cigarette. 

"How'd it go?" Marco asks, and for a such big beefy dude, he wears the "concerned mom" look a little too well. Katya tucks a hundred into his vest pocket and pats it. 

"Just dandy." 

Marco reaches into his pocket and whips out the bill, insisting that Katya take it back and Katya dances away from him, laughing and lighting his cigarette. 

"Nope, nope, nope nope nope. I earned the money, I get to decide what to do with it." He laughs, but Marco looks concerned again. 

"Marco, Marco, we've had this conversation a million times. I was kind of hoping the money would stop it happening again. No, no such luck? Must I hear a lecture on the dangers of hooking while all I did tonight was step on a guy and watch him?" 

Marco almost objected to hearing about it, but at learning that all Katya did tonight was place his high heel on some dude's face, he looks placated. 

"I'm sorry, Kat, you know I got one of those faces people can read easily." 

"You do, and I love you for that. Now get back to work before they wonder why you're hanging out in a dark alley with me." 

Marco reaches out like he's going to ruffle Katya's wig, and Katya squawks and ducks under his arm. 

"No you don't, you bitch! Begone with you!" Katya points to the service door dramatically as he walks backward away from Marco. 

"Fine, fine. See you soon, Kat." Marco ducks inside and Katya blows him a kiss as he goes. 

Katya walks back to the front of the hotel to finish his cigarette, and the revolving door lets out a few people as he approaches. Trixie is one of them, and the reaction he has when he sees Katya makes Katya almost choke on smoke and laugh. He stops, looking dumbstruck and causing a backup of people coming out of the revolving door to have to push past him. Katya blows out a mouthful of smoke and beckons him closer. Trixie goes, pulled almost tangibly by the motions of Katya's crooked finger. 

"You were in the way," Katya says brightly, offering Trixie a cigarette. Trixie hasn't smoked since college, but he takes one anyway. Katya looks delighted at this prospect. 

"Wouldn't have pegged you for a smoker," Katya smiles and lights the cig for Trixie. 

"I'm really not," Trixie says, and muffles a cough at the end of the sentence. 

"No shit," Katya is blasé. 

"I'm sorry, I don't like, know how to ask this, but--" 

"Why am I out here and not up there?" Katya slips into his brazen working-girl mentality. He figured this Brian wouldn't know the first thing about... well, any of it. Which is a shame, as explaining his night job is his least favorite thing. Maybe this time it'll be worth it, but he doubts it. 

"I mean, yeah, I guess, I'm really sorry--" 

"Don't be sorry, plenty of people ask me worse things on the regular." 

Trixie looks even more ashamed at that, and Katya decides to have pity on him. He brushes off Trixie's shoulder where Trixie's cigarette ash had floated up and landed. "Sorry, the attitude comes with the profession and all of that. To put it simply, some nights are easier than others." 

Trixie nods as he smokes. He doesn't look at all disgusted, Katya notes. That's an improvement on the usual to say the least. 

"And tonight was easy?" The question would sound judgmental from just about anyone else, but it doesn't from Trixie.

"Oh, yeah. I didn't even have to get undressed." 

Trixie's expression shifts, and Katya braces himself for the horrified, pious sort of air that most people affect when he says stuff like that casually. Instead, Trixie mirror's Marco's earlier concern, and Katya is... a little touched. 

"I mean, fuck, I'm sorry, we just met and I'm over here talking about stuff no one wants to hear about, sorry." Katya takes a deep drag. 

"To be honest--" Trixie says, and oh, here it comes. Here comes the verdict. "--I'd probably want to listen to you talk about anything." 

That was not what Katya expected. Was that... Did this wholesome-looking man just compliment Katya? 

"Why do you do that?" 

"Do what?" Trixie looks perplexed. 

"Say exactly the right thing." Katya says, smiling a little wistfully as he blows smoke out of the corner of his mouth. 

"And here I was thinking I was saying all the wrong things," Trixie laughs and stubs his cigarette out in the disposal. 

"Oh, you've got this apple pie faaaaaaaace," Katya draws out the syllable and pinches one of Trixie's cheeks. "If I wasn't what I am, I could really like you." 

"If I lived here I could really like _you_ ," Trixie replies back, dead serious. Again with the saying the right thing. 

"If you lived here," Katya parrots, and what he means is "I fucking doubt that." Trixie picks up on this. 

"Does it matter where I live, though? I'm through New York City once a month at least." 

They both know they're not talking about travel habits and living situations. The undercurrent is Katya pulling away because his job always creates the worst casualties and Trixie following, insisting that despite the circumstances, he wants. What does he want? Does Katya want to know what he wants? 

"I'm busy most nights," Katya bites out, clenching his fists and digging his fake nails into his palms. 

"I'm busy most days. Let's have an early dinner." Trixie smiles and it's a little goofy and sweet and Katya doesn't know what to do with any of this. This is out of his depth. 

"Yes. Okay. Yep, let's do it." Katya says, words resolute but hollow. As if this isn't about to be the queer version of Moulin Rouge or whatever. As if this cute thing won't just turn tail and run. As if. 

"Hey," Trixie says, as if he can tell that Katya thinks this is a bad idea. Is Katya really that transparent? "There's nothing to be worried about." 

"I'm not worried," Katya says, eyebrows drawn, jaw tight. 

"You are, and you shouldn't be. I'd really like to take you out to dinner, in drag or out of it." 

"Okay," Katya says, and means it.


End file.
